


Victoria’s Secret, Part 2

by von_gelmini



Series: Victoria's Secret [2]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Anal Sex, Coming Untouched, Emotionally Constipated Tony Stark, Except Tony's voice and Peter's fine ass ;), Implied/Referenced Emotional Abuse, Is there any other kind???, Kissing, M/M, Modeling, Musicians, Singing, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Issues, background Clintasha, background stucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-02-01 04:37:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21380743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/von_gelmini/pseuds/von_gelmini
Summary: This is a continuation of the prompt ficVictoria's Secret. It doesn't really stand alone.*sigh* One of these days I will end a series when I say I will end a series. That is to say... Expect a Part 3.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Series: Victoria's Secret [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1562044
Comments: 34
Kudos: 155





	Victoria’s Secret, Part 2

The Avengers were finished rehearsing. Instruments were still strewn all over the loft and a pile of half-eaten Chinese takeout was sitting on the salvaged coffee table. Things had moved to the shit-shooting stage when Bucky, Tony, and a small someone tucked in under Tony’s arm came into the room. Well, Bucky came into the room, Tony and the small someone were a blur as they hurried to his bedroom.

“What the fuck? He scored one of the _ models_?” Rhodey asked, disbelievingly. That was high class, even for Tony.

Bucky put the equipment down. “Not one of, _ the_ model.”

Steve shrugged. “He always gets the ones with looks and no brains.”

Bucky took his spot on the sofa next to Steve. “It was the Victoria’s Secret photoshoot.”

“That gig we had right before we hit the road?” Clint asked.

“Mmm,” Bucky agreed.

“He brought _ Peter Beck _ home?” Clint sat up sharply. “We are fuckin’ dead.” He slumped back down in the chair.

Bucky shrugged. “They’ll be getting a divorce.”

“Not being a homewrecker is the bare minimum when it comes to decency,” Steve said, disgust in his voice. 

“It wasn’t like that, babe,” Bucky ran his hand over Steve’s thigh. “Beck was abusing Peter. The kid was miserable.”

That calmed Steve’s outrage. “I mean, yeah, they were fighting. You and I can get into it when the songs aren’t writing themselves. That’s an artist thing. But how can someone do…” He shook his head. 

Tony came out from the hall. “Nat?”

Nat went over to meet him. “Yeah Tony? What you need?”

He led her down to his doorway. “What he’s wearing is all Peter has. Do you think you have anything to fit him? For a couple of days until I can arrange to get his things?”

Nat smiled at Peter who was hanging back behind Tony. “I think we can find something.” She reached out her hand and led him up the back stairs to her room.

Tony went into the living room. “Peter’s going to be staying with me,” he announced matter of factly, perching on the back of the sofa. “He’s strong.” Tony looked proud, but then his expression softened. “He’s just stunned by the situation. He hasn’t had anybody be _ nice _to him in a long time, so take it easy on him.”

Nat and Peter came down, Peter managed to look entirely put together in Nat’s clothes. He was smiling beatifically as he went to sit near Tony at the other end of the long sofa from Bucky and Steve.

“I’m Peter,” he said to the gathering. A brief round of introductions followed.

“It’s leftover Chinese tonight.” Tony looked into the containers. 

“Is there anything with shrimp? Chicken?” Peter asked.

Nat got a paper plate from the kitchen before coming back and finally sitting cross legged at the table. She put small servings of each and a knot of noodles on the plate, then handed it to him along with a pair of break-apart chopsticks.

Tony waited until he saw Peter eat. “I guess we’re not getting any more photography gigs,” he said.

“They were out of our oeuvre anyway,” Rhodey teased.

“I’m never going to hear the end of that,” Tony said, shaking his head.

“It went well though?” Clint asked, knowing that by Peter being there it obviously hadn’t.

“Right up until Tony threatened to take the photographer apart and I knocked Beck out with an equipment case, yeah, everything went swimmingly,” Bucky said.

Everyone, including Peter, laughed.

“The music was great though,” Peter said. “The first set was exactly what I needed for each mood. David was getting all the shots he wanted. He and I were completely in sync, flowing with it. And Tony’s voice…” He looked over at Tony. 

It was hard for the company not to roll their eyes at Peter’s gush over ‘Tony’s voice’. Tony didn’t need his ego burnished by having the Victoria’s Secret cover model mooning over his pathetic attempts to sing opera.

“Why did Tony threaten to take the photographer apart?” Nat asked.

“Like our hothead needs an excuse,” Steve said derisively. “How bad are we gonna have to pay to cover your ass this time?”

Tony glared at him. “The guy took pictures he shouldn’t have. He refused to delete them. It’s handled.” He leaned forward and let his hand settle on Peter’s back, rubbing circles into it. “Slowly baby.”

“I do know how to take care of _ me_, Tony.” Peter said, snappishly. “I’ve been doing it all my life.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Tony chuckled. He leaned over and put a quick kiss on the side of Peter’s head. “You didn’t exactly come with a book on the care and feeding of fashion models.”

Peter looked at him puzzled. _ His _ tone was always matched, if not escalated. Tony stayed… good natured? Was that what it was called?

“Rehearsals went good, Tone,” Rhodey said. “Bucky slipped in two good improv places for me between Steve’s lyrics for you on the new material. It’ll take me a couple of days to work on my timing but I’ll be ready. I’ll cover a Hampton piece in the second set, and do backup.”

“Lyrics?” Tony asked, reaching a hand behind Peter and taking a sheaf of pages from Steve. He read them over quickly, shuffling them. He nodded. “You’ve got three out of five here man. Solid.” He separated out two pages. “This… Did you just throw words on a wall and pick a few dozen? If you want my voice on this, fix it.” He tossed the page in the vague direction of Steve. “This is worse. This is _ shit_.” His volume was rising, his inflection growing more colorful. “I am _ not _ singing _ that_. Work on it some more.” The second page followed the first. “It doesn’t even _ scan_.”

“It’s not supposed to. It’s jazz, not poetry,” Steve said defensively.

Tony fell back onto the sofa, facepalming. “You did _ not _ just say that. Did you _ ever _ hear of the beats? Poetry and jazz go hand in fucking hand. Last two lines of the second, the _ entire _fucking chorus of the first. Work on it!”

Peter turned to look at Tony. Ah, there’s the artist, he thought, recognizing the outburst. Because the outburst hadn’t been directed at him, but in defense of Tony’s talent, Peter couldn’t help but feel proud of how the man stood up for himself. He’d sensed tension between Tony and the guitarist since he got there. He could tell this wasn’t the first time they’d brushed up against each other.

“It’s been real, but Nat and I actually have a life away from this place,” Clint said, breaking the tension.

“What can I say, fellas. He knows how to treat a girl right.” She looked at him. “Do I need to change?”

“You’d be gorgeous in a potato sack.”

“But do I need to change, Barton,” Nat said.

“It’s just the club uptown. You wanted to see the first opening act.” They left together.

“You go listen to other musicians?” Peter asked Tony.

Tony laughed. “Like you don’t know the entire portfolio of everyone at your level as well as everyone coming up. It’s a competitive field, art.” He added with a shrug. “Whatever the kind.”

There it was again. Words that, just strung together, should’ve been hard and biting. But in Tony’s voice they were… realistic yes, but… Peter didn’t even have a word for it.

After dinner was over, Tony took Peter back to his room. As soon as the door shut, Peter started peeling off Nat’s blouse. 

Tony put a hand lightly over his wrist. “No, Peter.” He stepped away. “I just didn’t want to talk about things in front of everybody.” He sat on the edge of his bed and fished underneath it. He pulled out a notebook with a pen in the coil. Folding it back to a clean page, he tossed it to the other side. “Write down your address. Your accountant’s name.” Tony cocked his head at Peter’s puzzled look. “You _ do _ have an accountant?” Peter shook his head. “Let me guess. Quentin took care of that.”

“Quentin took care of everything.”

Tony wanted to tear the man into little pieces, then tear those little pieces into littler pieces. “It’s okay,” he said gently. “Just put what you know. Don’t worry about what you don’t. It’s all in the records. Jeri will get them.”

Peter watched Tony closely. He saw his expression turn dark whenever his husband was mentioned, but he expected there’d be jealousy. That was kind of thrilling. But Tony had set him a task he couldn’t do. Working from fourteen, Peter hadn’t had an education. His aunt was always pulling him out of school for work. Spring and fall fashion weeks were spent in Europe. There were supposed to be tutors, but none of the models used them and no time was allotted to lessons anyway. He didn’t know anything about accountants or anything practical. Quentin never missed an opportunity to tell him how stupid he was. 

Tony was nice. But Quentin had been nice too. Peter was just waiting for the turn. It didn’t take long for it to come with his husband. Not long after the ink was dry on their marriage certificate and his aunt stepped away. It would come with Tony. He just didn’t know when. As Tony made his phone call, Peter gnawed on the end of his pen.

“Jeri? Tony. Yes I know it’s after hours. No I wouldn’t have called you if it wasn’t an emergency. No I’m not in jail this time,” Tony added, laughing. “Do you know who Peter Beck is? The Victoria’s Secret cover model,” he explained, when Jeri said no. “Yes, that boy. He’s not a boy, he’s twenty one. He’s married, doesn’t want to be, and his husband is his manager who’s been bleeding him dry for god knows how long. Get your team doing the digging and we’ll be by first thing in the morning. Yes, first thing in the morning _ for me_.” He hung up and turned to Peter, grinning. “Which means sometime around noon.”

Peter handed the notebook and the chewed pen back to Tony. There was very little written on the page. “I really don’t know anything. Quentin handled everything and before that it was my aunt. I know I should’ve paid more attention…”

Tony put his hand on Peter’s knee. “I’ve seen it in my business too. Kids run by stage door moms, then handed to a manager while both sit back and spend the money. They keep you not paying attention.”

There was a knock on the door and Tony went to get it. “Music,” Bucky said, handing Tony a large stack of pages. “First and second sets. Yes I know you know the back catalogue by heart. It’s from my shelves. Take it. Hide it or whatever, just so Steve doesn’t see it in our room and I don’t have to hear about it from him. The two lines are on top. He’s still working on the chorus.”

Tony let the stack of music plop to the floor and held up the top page. “Seriously Bucky?” 

Bucky shrugged. “It scans.”

“Go fuck him until he comes up with better inspiration.”

Bucky laughed, took the page, and left. A few moments later, heavy footsteps were heard climbing the stairs to the second level bedrooms. 

“Steve’s not quiet and their bedroom is above mine,” Tony said, grabbing the handwritten sheets of music and leaving the printed ones. He smiled. “Bucky’s not quiet either.” He sat on the bed again, distracted by and shuffling through the pages.

“I’m quiet, Tony,” Peter said, waiting until he had the man’s eye. He smiled. “I can be very quiet.”

“Sweetheart, I took you for a screamer.” Tony returned Peter’s look with heat. “But only with the right _ inspiration_.” Quickly he shed his t-shirt. Peter did the same for Nat’s blouse.

Sheet music was kicked to the floor as they met in the middle of Tony’s bed. Peter’s entire body was tingling from Tony’s kisses. But the kisses had to stop. They’d stop soon now. He’d been kissed… certainly enough to finish being undressed and turned over by now. But it had been hard to count. One kiss bled into the next without hardly a breath between them. Tony’s hands were gentle where he touched him. He ran his fingers through his curly hair without pulling. When their kiss broke so Peter could recover long enough to… he didn’t know what. Breathe, but he’d been doing that. Float back down into his body? Yes. That was it. While he was still floating, Tony didn’t stop kissing him. His lips moved to Peter’s cheek, brushed lightly over his temple, found their way to a spot behind his ear that he never knew was so sensitive. He dragged them slowly and wetly down the cords of his long neck. He kissed over the part of his jaw that Peter hated, where it was becoming too sharp, too angular in all the wrong ways, but Tony kissed it like it was perfect. Then, just as Peter’s eyelids slowly began to open, Tony captured his lips again and he was lost. 

Tony’s hands wandered. Moving down the center of Peter’s flat chest, back up to trace the lines of his collarbones, palm cupping the roundness of his too broad shoulders. If Tony’s tongue hadn’t been so softly brushing against his own, he would have objected to that touch. He was beyond objecting to anything. Oh but then Tony’s hand caressed the back of his neck and deepened their kiss. Peter gasped into Tony’s mouth, accidentally breaking the kiss. He felt the man’s lips quirk up. Tony pulled him in, his hand on his neck, to kiss Peter in exactly the same way. Peter’s arms wrapped tightly around Tony’s chest, holding them together as he moaned. 

“Sweetheart,” Tony whispered against Peter’s lips and then kissed the word into them. “Kiss me.”

The words made no sense. He’d been kissing Tony. Peter tilted his head back and parted his lips.

“Kiss me Peter,” Tony said gently, brushing his lips against the corner of Peter’s mouth.

The words still didn’t make sense but the intent did. It was a trap. He didn’t _ desire_. He didn’t _ want_. What he desired, what he wanted was bad. He _ was _ desired. He _ was _ wanted. _ Being _desired and wanted was good.

“Baby, baby,” Tony said soothingly, when he felt the boy flinch in his arms. “Shh, sweetheart.” Tony put his finger under the boy’s chin and lifted his face up to him again. He pressed his lips lightly to Peter’s. “It’s okay Peter. You’ll kiss me when you’re ready to kiss me. Is this all right, when I kiss you?” he kept his voice soft, his tone gentle.

“You can stop if you want,” Peter said. He’d certainly been kissed enough. Far more than was required. 

“Peter, if you’re gonna wait for me to _ want _ to stop kissing you, we’re gonna be here a long, long time.”

~~~

Sheet music was kicked to the floor as they met in the middle of Tony’s bed. Tony realized that he could go years before he would ever get enough of kissing him. Even then it might take a few more years just to be certain. Kissing Peter was like kissing a feather. No, not that. A feather was soft, like Peter’s lips, but a feather wasn’t hot and moist and didn’t sigh into his mouth. A summer afternoon when the rain was on the edge of falling. No, not that either. It would take him years of kissing Peter to find the right metaphor and even then it wouldn’t be right. There wasn’t anything _ like _ kissing Peter. 

Tony had done more than his fair share of kissing to find out. It wasn’t that Peter was a soft, small, fragile, _ delicate _ thing. He’d kissed more than his fair share of soft, small, fragile, _ delicate _ things. Was there a thrill in having that soft, small, fragile, _ delicate _ thing be a boy? Okay, there hadn’t been as many as those, but there’d been enough to be dangerous. Before the Avengers, when Tony was singing metal in California, there were always groupies who were too young to be backstage and enough liquor and drugs for everyone to forget that. But Peter wasn’t a boy. Peter was very deliciously a young man. And while his body might be small and soft, Peter himself was anything but fragile and delicate. 

He didn’t know what Peter was, only that he needed to kiss him more. And that he wanted to see what the not fragile and delicate part of Peter might be like if he was the one to kiss him. 

Feeling him flinch in his arms brought every protective instinct out in Tony. Darker ones that wanted to hurt whoever had done this to him, but those were pushed rapidly aside in favor of what Peter actually needed. Not revenge, but safety. 

Peter hadn’t said that he wanted Tony to stop. Only that Tony could stop if _ he _ wanted to.

“Peter, if you’re gonna wait for me to _ want _ to stop kissing you, we’re gonna be here a long, long time.”

As soon as he had Peter’s mouth, there were those wonderful broken breaths. Soft lips parting for him, closing just enough to suck on the tip of his tongue and send shocks running down his spine. Peter might not be able to kiss him, but he was able to _ want _ to be kissed. He shuddered every time his hands caressed his skin. The way any touch above Peter’s waist made him gasp, Tony knew that this night, their first night, his hands would go no farther. Fully undressing would wait until they were ready for sleep, literal sleep. 

Beck had him from seventeen. Had Peter ever known what it was like to… to _ anything_? Other than be fucked. Their argument showed that Beck had no trouble fucking Peter. But the idea that Peter hadn’t been… oh god Tony wanted to literally worship him. Wanted to give him every kiss he’d ever missed. Wanted to touch him everywhere no one had ever bothered to. Wanted to… 

Ah no no no. Not going to that word, Tony. Not going to that word, _ ever_. 

But maybe, just dancing, like the tip of Peter’s tongue was dancing over the swell of his bottom lip, just dancing around the _ possibility_… 

Then Peter sucked where his tongue had been dancing. He hadn’t been able to kiss when asked. But he drew Tony’s bottom lip into his mouth and sucked on it. Tony groaned.

Tony’s unguarded reaction broke the spell and Peter broke their kiss. When he plastered on his runway smile, it was Tony who wanted to flinch. How many times had he practiced his own version? 

“Do you _ want _me Tony?” Peter asked.

“Sweetheart,” Tony leaned down and whispered the word softly against Peter’s lips. “I want you.” He kissed him again, in the realm between passion and tenderness. “I will need at least a year _ just _ to kiss your lips.” He trailed his hand down Peter’s spine. “Another to discover every secret your back has to tell.” His finger traced Peter’s collarbone again. “This will take at least six months for each of my fingertips to learn its contour.” He brushed his lips over Peter’s neck. “How could I possibly learn every sigh and gasp that your throat holds in less time?” He brought Peter’s arm to rest on his waist. “Less than another six months to feel you hold me? Not twice that would be enough.” Tony lifted Peter’s face to his again. He barely brushed their lips together. “_Cuore mio_.” Some things were best not said in English.

Tony woke early, to Peter in his arms the same way they’d fallen asleep. He’d never seen him like this, his features completely relaxed. No artifice, no worry, and especially, no fear. He looked more like a young man and less like the boy he still fought to portray. He didn’t know anything about models, but he knew how hard it was for a teen singer to make the shift to adult. Peter would be going through his version of that soon. It wouldn’t affect what Tony felt about him, but it was one more difficulty that his angel would have to face. He wanted to keep Peter like this. Safe. Unharmed by the world. And in his arms.

He hadn’t noticed that his fingers were playing with the hair at the back of Peter’s neck until it woke him and a pair of sleepy honey eyes met his own. “Good morning, sweetheart,” Tony said. 

The way he said ‘sweetheart’ was always tender, gentle, soft, even when lightly teasing like last night it was affectionate. Tony was fond of endearments. ‘Baby’ rolled off his tongue with ease. Peter was ‘baby’ at times. There was ‘honey’ and ‘darling’. There were endearments in Italian, German, and French. ‘Sweetheart’ was one he rarely said. But then he heard the way Beck said it… watched the way it hardened Peter as he took it into himself. It didn’t matter how rarely Tony used the phrase. Peter would always be his ‘sweetheart’. He would say it over and over and over, the way it _ should _ be said, until Peter couldn’t hear it Beck’s voice ever again.

Peter slid his hand between them to caress Tony’s chest. He sighed and flattened his palm, running it over Tony’s warm skin, feeling his solid strength beneath it. Tony put a kiss on his forehead and Peter’s hand wandered higher, sliding over the top of his shoulder, running up his neck. He held his four fingers close together and let them follow the line of Tony’s jaw, feel his morning stubble before they reached his beard, moving along it until Peter pressed only one finger on the man’s bottom lip. He felt the line of it, the swell of it. He smiled when Tony kissed his finger. 

“Good morning, Tony,” Peter said. He had never been allowed to do that. Quentin was always up quickly, off to the bathroom, into the shower, and when he returned, he told Peter what to do for the day. This… He had no idea where it came from. But from the first touch of his palm to Tony’s skin… he _ wanted_. Peter sighed. He tilted his head back, his eyes fluttered shut, and his lips parted. 

The most moral man in the world could not resist that sight. Tony was not a moral man. He tried to be gentle like the night before. Tender, he would always be towards Peter. But gentility was pushed aside by hot desire as he _ took _Peter’s mouth. He needed to touch. He moved his arm so his pinned hand could reach and hold Peter’s neck. That way he could touch him with his free. He felt the small whimpers he made into his mouth when his tongue sought out Peter’s. Kissing Peter… he’d never get enough of that. But the way it felt holding his small, responsive body against his larger, more powerful one was more than he had words to describe. Then Peter started moving his hand across Tony’s back. Not softly, hesitantly like the night before but grasping, clutching, his caresses firm, even demanding. Tony was lost.

He moved to bring their erections together, grinding, seeking pleasure against each other. Tony tilted Peter’s head farther back so he could keep kissing the shorter man. His hand skimmed down his shoulders, down the taper to his narrow waist, then slid to the firm round rise of his ass. Peter was most definitely a young man and very much not a boy. The discovery of what was hidden beneath the delicate, feminine lace, which Tony did truly love, drove him wild. But despite the desperation, nothing could make him forget that Peter, his precious beautiful Peter, had probably never been _ asked_.

“Peter? Is this…” His words broke on panting breaths. He could _ maybe _ control his actions but he couldn’t control his response. He kissed Peter again. Brief but passionate, moaning over his lips. “I want you. Dear god, I want you. But sweetheart…” He moved his hand and caressed Peter’s cheek. “Is this…” He was doing a horrible job of asking, he knew it. But Peter was driving him mad.

Peter ground his hips against Tony. His hand pulled him closer. “Yes Tony.” His words were sighing moans. “_Yes_. Oh Tony,” Peter’s moan melted. “If you stop, I’ll _ cry_.”

“Oh sweetheart, I can’t stand to see you cry.” He didn’t want to lose the touch of Peter. But there was absolutely no smooth romantic way to do this because Tony hadn’t considered the possibility of bringing someone home. The lube was definitely out of reach and knocking around somewhere in the mess that was his nightstand drawer. “Gonna have to make you cry, baby,” he said giggling as he slid away.

Peter grinned as Tony sat on the edge of the bed, his cock swollen red and insistent and unhappy about the delay. Yet again he swore to himself that he would clean out his drawer, but eventually he found the bottle of lube. “Condom?” he asked. “I’m on Truvada and I get tested, but whatever you want, Peter.”

He hadn’t ever been asked by anyone about anything as much as Tony did. Peter bit his lip. “I get tested a lot. Quentin doesn’t… didn’t know. But I know he can’t… couldn’t keep his dick out of anything that looks… looked at him.”

Tony turned back to Peter. “Yes darling, but what do you _ want_.”

Of all the questions, he hated being asked that one directly. But maybe it was okay this time. “I’d…” he tried to find a safe place to look that wasn’t at Tony so that if wanting was wrong, he wouldn’t have to see his reaction. There wasn’t one. He looked at him. “I’d like to just feel you,” Peter said quietly.

Rolling back to the middle of the bed, bottle in hand then left within reach on the bed, Tony nestled himself against Peter the way they’d been before. He cupped his chin before resuming their kiss. “Peter, I’m not going to do anything you don’t want me to.”

Peter closed his eyes. That was so much wanting. “Tony,” Peter said, desperately wishing that the man would just kiss him again. That they could get back to where they were. Without the talking. Without the _ wanting_. He opened his eyes again. Oh god. Looking at him… There were so many things in Tony’s gaze that he had no words for. He only knew that the tightness he held within himself was gone. He knew what he wanted. “I want you.”

“Oh sweetheart, that’s easy,” Tony said, kissing Peter lightly. The light touch of their lips reminded him quickly of how much more he wanted. “You have me.” 

Their kissing that morning was nothing like the night before. That was patient, sweet, soft. There was nothing patient, sweet, or soft in the way Peter was clutching at his side. What Tony wanted was Peter’s uncontrolled desire. He needed to feel both hands on his sides. He rolled Peter onto his back. He pulled at his hip. He moved him to the center of the bed. He stretched over Peter and pushed his knee up, spreading Peter’s legs wide. He slid up, dragging the warmth and pressure of his body along Peter’s erection. He listened to him gasp at the sensation. And _ there _were the hands he wanted, grabbing him, pulling him closer. 

This was why _ wanting _ was dangerous. Once started, there was no end to the _ want_. He barely whispered. “Please, Tony.” Wanting led to asking. Asking led to refusal. He knew this. But he wrapped his arms around Tony’s chest and looked up at him. He spoke. “Please, Tony.” Whenever he looked at Tony, the tightness left. It made him want again. It made him _ need_. He begged. “_Please_, Tony.”

“Yes, Peter.” He brushed the curls from Peter’s forehead. “Sweetheart, it’s always gonna be yes.” He kissed Peter passionately. Peter pressed into the kiss, returning it with passion of his own. “_Mio angelo_,” Tony gasped into his mouth.

He pushed up on his arms, slowly separating their torsos, pressing small kisses to Peter’s lips every time they had to move farther apart. Peter whimpered at the loss of Tony’s skin against his own. Tony knelt back and looked down at Peter, lying there in his bed, white skin against black sheets, chest rising with panting breaths. He looked like an angel, but perhaps one a little too close to the fall. And Tony… ah, he was going to carry Peter down and show him the delights to be found a bit farther from heaven before he sent him back. 

With one hand, he caressed Peter down the length of his body. With the other, he opened the bottle on the bed. His caressing hand avoided Peter’s lovely cock which brought another whimper. “Patience, sweetheart,” Tony said with a knowing smile. “We’ll get there.” He ran his hand along the crease of Peter’s ass. His whimper was less patient that time. “Please was it?” Tony asked teasingly. He coated his finger with lube.

“Yes Tony.” Peter looked up at Tony from under his lashes. “I’ll cry.”

Tony pressed his finger, seeking resistance and finding none. Tony slid his finger out and heavily slicked his cock. He guided it to Peter’s opening. 

“I will Tony. I promise.” Peter’s lips quirked up into a tiny, close-lipped smile. “I’ll cry.”

“Oh baby.” He pressed in slowly, feeling Peter part easily around him. He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “I know you will.” Tony stretched himself out over Peter again, sliding deeper as he moved.

Peter moaned. Quentin never fucked him in that position before. He only ever fucked him in one position. On his stomach. He had to reach underneath himself if he wanted to feel anything. When he did, it was always very direct and he had to time it just right because Quentin didn’t stop until he came, even if Peter had and it became unpleasant. Nothing he’d experienced was like the slow, hot, gliding pressure of Tony’s body over his cock, trapped between them. It was indirect and sent a tingling diffused through his entire body. He gasped at the surprise of it. He grabbed Tony’s back and pulled him, wanting him to keep touching that way for as long as possible.

Whenever Peter’s own desires slipped through it thrilled Tony. He tried to tell himself that it was because he wanted to have Peter to realize he had desires of his own, and not that it was because those desires were for him. For either reason, virtuous or not, he was powerless to resist when there was something Peter wanted. He kept his slide over Peter’s body slow and firm, pulling himself deeper as he did. He kissed Peter on the side of his head. “Like that, baby?”

“Mmm.” He moaned his assent. Peter’s lashes fluttered open and he found himself looking at Tony again. 

“Gets better,” Tony said with a smug smile.

Peter held in a coy little laugh seeing Tony’s self-satisfied expression. “Do you fuck as good as you kiss, Tony?” he teased. This was new. Nice. Being able to speak, to tease, to ask, to want. To do anything other than lie there and wait for Quentin to finish.

Tony chuckled, knowing he’d been caught out. “Guess you’ll have to give me the review after. If I leave you able to.”

Tony’s playful tone made Peter’s eyes twinkle. “You really didn’t just…” Tony moved his hips and playfulness was forgotten. Peter’s mouth fell open and his head bent back. “Oh god.” Peter spread his legs wider. 

“Like this, Peter,” Tony said on a broken breath. He reached down, searching clumsily for Peter’s ankle, then finding it. He pulled it up, guiding it to hook around his waist.

Peter raised both legs, wrapping them around Tony’s waist. It opened him, letting Tony push in more. He gasped loudly and shuddered as the change in position created a delicious stretch and he was filled deeper than he’d ever been.

“God Peter, you’re so tight,” Tony groaned. He held himself still within Peter’s heat. “You feel beautiful.” When he recovered, he slowly bucked his hips, while staying close. It kept him against Peter’s cock as he moved within him. He kept them rocking together. Their eyes would fall shut as the steady movement let the pleasure build. But there were times when their eyes were open and their gaze locked. Those times left them panting, moaning. 

Tony liked things fast. He liked things slow. He liked things at every stage in between. Friction, bodies, pleasure. It wasn’t a complicated equation. One repeated many times with the same enjoyable results. But Peter had never been entered into that equation. The results with Peter… Tony found an equation without an answer. Because the answer that there was, was impossible.

Tony leaned back, separating them again, losing Peter that indirect stimulation. But before he could miss it, there was something even more powerful to replace it. A sharper spike of pleasure deep within him. Something more than a moan or a gasp or a whimper could express. He cried out, softly, repeatedly, brokenly every time Tony thrust. 

“Oh yes, cry for me baby.”

“I…” His words were interrupted by those soft, broken cries. “Promised… You… That… I’d… Cry.”

Tony moved steadily, deeply, filling Peter only to glide back again and repeat. Peter writhed, but that moved the pleasure farther away. He stayed still but staying still was more than he could bear. He tensed. His legs around Tony’s waist, his arms grasping tightly for the sheets, his back pressing his head into the mattress, arching higher and higher.

Tony’s arm hooked around Peter’s back at the height of his arch. “Oh sweetheart, fall. Fall. Fall. Peter, let yourself fall.” Tony raised Peter’s body to his lips where his mouth — open, panting — dragged up the center of his chest. “I’ll _ always _catch you,” he whispered against his neck. He sat back, his arms catching Peter around his waist, carrying him into his lap, still inside him.

Peter’s entire body strained. If not for Tony’s arms wrapped around his waist, he would’ve collapsed. He arched back against their hold, quaking, every nerve alight. His mouth opened in a wordless scream, held so long he felt he’d never breathe again. And still his body vibrated, sparked. When he gasped for air, his scream was wordless no more. It arched high through the air as his back arched against Tony’s arms. Peter felt the warm flat splay of Tony’s hand across his back, his other arm around him. With Tony holding him, he let himself fall.

Tony’s breaths were fast and hard and filled with low, broken moans. There was no hiding them with dignity or smooth or control. He was lost to anything remotely like control. Peter was tight and hot, and his response to the untouched orgasm that Tony brought him to engulfed him. His lithe body was unable to hold itself, unable to _ exist _ without Tony there to keep his angel from flying back to heaven. And Peter wanted to stay. His broke into soft gasps of ‘oh’ and of ‘Tony’ as Peter anchored himself to earth, to him. Peter wrapped his legs around his waist. His arms circled his neck. He clung to the one solid thing in his world. Peter’s need, his desire, his want… the last quakes rippling through his body, muscles tightening and loosening… was more than Tony could withstand. Buried deep, he came inside Peter, clinging to him as much as he was being clung to, calling out to god and to Peter until it was only Peter’s name on his lips, god long forgotten. 

His hand slid easily over Peter’s sweat-sheened back. He kissed Peter’s neck, each kiss a breath brought steadily back to rhythm. His hands wouldn’t still. Both open flat, needing Peter’s skin beneath them even though Tony had come, was softening, slid free, felt the slick wetness drip, he still _ needed_. Tony’s hand tangled in Peter’s hair and he brought him into a deep kiss, even though Peter was still breathing heavily around it. But as his kisses to Peter’s neck had done for him, each kiss brought Peter closer to earth. Closer to Tony. Until his eyes opened and Tony melted into their dark honey depths. He soothed Peter into the crook of his neck. Their hold, arms and legs, eased but neither of them were ready to entirely give the other up. Tony felt a soft, warm wetness, not quite a kiss, only Peter’s open mouth, on his neck. He felt the tease of the tip of Peter’s tongue as he tasted the clean sweat of his exertion. He heard his name again. “_Bellissimo amato_,” he answered. 

A night spent kissing Peter had been astonishing. A morning spent making love to Peter had been transcendent. 

But even the most heated sex was cooled by the air of a drafty loft on moist skin. Tony wrapped the sheet around Peter and led him to the bathroom.

“I thought everyone shared the upstairs bathroom,” Peter said, as Tony adjusted the shower.

“He who always manages to somehow cover the rent shortfall just in the nick of time, gets the en suite,” Tony answered with a grin. He pulled Peter under the warm spray with him. “The room is small, but for this shower, I’d sleep in the closet.” When they were clean he turned off the water and gave one last teasing kiss to Peter’s lips. “I knew you’d be a screamer with the right inspiration,” he smirked.

The young man Tony had just been making love to disappeared into Nat’s clothes. He watched Peter transform, turning into the beautiful cover model. It didn’t reconcile, but maybe it didn’t need to. Tony could appreciate both. The soft, sensuous slide of silk and lace on skin when he kissed Peter in the photographer’s studio. And the young man who clutched at him with strong arms in his bed.

He leaned over the kid’s shoulder and looked at his and Peter’s reflection in the dresser mirror. “Beautiful, sweetheart.”

“Now,” Peter said, a bitter twist to his voice.

Tony shook his head. “You are always beautiful.” He turned Peter to face him and rested his hands on his waist. “You’re always Peter. And Peter is always beautiful. I...” No. No. No. That was not what you said to a kid after his first night with you. It was not what you said to a kid after his 30th night with you or after his 300th or ever. “…think you’re stunning.” Tony breathed a sigh of relief that he hid as a kiss on the top of Peter’s head. Composed, he leaned back and smiled at Peter. “Let’s go get you divorced.”

Introductions and a rough description of the case were passed as Tony and Peter sat in Jeri Hogarth’s cool, crisp office.

“It’s not just the divorce,” Tony explained. “I know you handle entertainment law. You handle me.”

Jeri scoffed. “I _ try _ to handle you. You are unhandleable.” 

Tony usually was nothing but irritation whenever he met with Jeri, not that it was ever her fault. Just dealing with anything legal was stressful and Tony didn’t do stress. This time, he was trying very hard to keep calm for Peter. “Child talent though,” he explained. “Didn’t you handle Trish Walker’s case?”

“Peter’s an adult.”

“He got into the business at fourteen. His aunt managed him until she palmed him off to Beck. They got married when he was seventeen. His assets have never been his own, no matter what any paperwork says.”

“Seventeen might be legal to marry, but for other things, it’s still eighteen. I can look into improprieties there. Most people assume that marriage covers it all. I doubt they did their due diligence. Extracting what’s yours from your aunt will be no difficulty. It’s extracting what’s yours from your husband is where the problems come. No prenup?”

“I didn’t know about it. I’m sorry Ms Hogarth,” Peter said.

“That’s all right. It’s harder without one, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be done.” She looked at Tony. “I’m assuming you want your anonymity intact?”

“Has to be, yeah. I’ve got a photographer who knows. I’ll need you to clean my mess up with him. And I probably screwed up things between Peter and his agency because of the guy. I can give him back his equipment, the pictures from the first set, and even the chair…” Jeri looked puzzled. “He’ll know what I’m talking about. But he gets nothing else. If he presses, make sure he understands that it’s wise not to. I’ll leave the notes with your secretary.” 

“Unhandleable,” Jeri said again.

“I’ll pay for Peter’s case. That’s not a problem. Obie never fucks with my share of the profits because he doesn’t want me digging. I _ do _know what to look for. So consider your resources to take Beck down bottomless. But he can’t know more than the ‘rich benefactor’ story about me.”

“What do you want out of the management dissolution, Peter?” Jeri asked.

“Professionally?” Peter sighed heavily. “I don’t think there’s anything that isn’t tied to him or May. What I’d _ like _is my contract with Victoria’s Secret. My contracts with my agencies. My previous contracts before Victoria’s Secret clear from them so I can use them. As much right to my image as I can get. And my own name back, Peter Parker, even though I’ve been professionally Peter Beck for four years. I’ll rebrand me.” He paused. “My income would be nice,” he said quieter.

“And the divorce?” 

“Quentin _ completely _out of my life. That’s all that’s important.” He hesitated. “There isn’t much money I don’t think. I have a savings account that May set up. But my personal account is almost empty since Quentin paid for… I’m sorry. I don’t even know for what he paid for. I sign the checks, he fills them out. I’ve never been good with numbers. Models.” Peter laughed self-deprecatingly. “We’re pretty but we’re stupid.”

“Trish went through the same thing when she broke away from her mother,” Jeri said, conciliatorily. “Their scam is based on keeping you ignorant and making you dependent. That’s not stupidity. That’s situational. Trish turned out to be very intelligent once she got away from her mother.”

  
  


Even though the Avengers’ New York return was close, Tony still annoyingly blew off rehearsals. Done even more annoyingly than usual, because the reason for him doing so was obvious from the ‘singing’ of an entirely different sort coming from Peter. 

“Maybe we should hire _ him _ for vocals and fire the older diva?” Steve growled and called rehearsals early. 

Bucky waited until after Peter’s singing stopped. Then waited a polite bit after that. He knocked on the door. He heard Peter’s cheery ‘come in’ followed by a complaining groan of ‘don’t come in’ from Tony. Despite that, Tony opened the door.

Peter was decent, barely. He was used to no modesty. There wasn’t any privacy backstage for models. “Hi Bucky,” he said smiling, not even trying to hide what he and Tony had been doing before.

“Hi Peter. You’ve both driven everyone out to do their own thing. Steve’s gone to get groceries and might not be back for a month, or I never would’ve interrupted you.”

“You didn’t interrupt us. We were finished. Tony was just kissing me.”

“_Just _ kissing you? My kisses are okay to interrupt?” Tony teased.

“Jesus you’re worse than we are. And louder.” 

“Oh please. Do you really not know how loud Steve gets when it’s your turn on top? How’s that work anyway? Roll of the dice? Cos it can’t be who’s _ got _ the bigger dick versus who _ is _ the bigger dick or I’d never know what you sound like getting fucked.”

Bucky laughed. Teasing between Steve and Tony never happened, but he and Tony had senses of humor cut from the same cloth. He sat on the corner of Tony’s bed. “I’m working on something. Steve will have to do the lyrics still, but I need to know…” Tony went to sit beside him, but Bucky motioned for him to keep standing. “I got your sustained high. Sustained low?”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Now?”

“Unless you want everybody to hear, yes now.”

Tony hit the sustainable bottom of his range, held it easily, and fell into circular breathing. Bucky wrote the note on staff paper. He looked at him sideways as the note continued way past when it should’ve ended. “You can do that with the sustained high?”

“The breathing? Yeah.”

“So you can hold it for longer than you showed me at Peter’s show?”

“How long you need, Buck?”

Bucky shook his head. “Not that long. Fuck. Top note? When you don’t need it sustained?” More writing when Tony sang. “Same for the bottom? Now the absolute extremes in both directions with duration. Give me a mid-range hold — both comfortably _ and _with your damn breathing. Long as you fucking can.” 

“Why? You’re not gonna use it.”

“I wanna see, asshole.” 

Tony laughed and gave him what he wanted.

“Falsetto?” he asked.

Tony stopped following Bucky’s direction and shook his head. “I don’t have anything _ remotely _like a natural countertenor and I don’t do head voice. It fucks with you.”

“Okay. So no Freddie Mercury.”

“Freddie was a force of nature,” Tony said. “I am a mere mortal who hasn’t had a singing lesson since I was fifteen.”

“Seriously?” Bucky said, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, seriously.”

“Not even for jazz?”

Tony sighed expressively. “Like I needed it for that.”

“Do some scat.” 

“You’ve heard me scat before,” Tony scoffed. 

“Not what I meant. Gimme some _ Ella _ scat. Use your _ full _range.”

Tony laughed. “Man, you are _ lucky _nobody’s here. Don’t tell anyone. Ever. I mean it.” He launched into it. When he finished, he laughed again at Bucky’s stunned expression. “One of these days you’ll believe me.”

“You are fucking wasted, man.”

“I’m right where I have to be. Out of sight, out of mind. I can’t have the exposure.”

Bucky changed the subject. “All right. Give me your metal scream. Absolute top volume, but sung, not screamed and no vocal fry.” Bucky heard there were a few metal singers who could actually do that. “I don’t want you to hurt your voice.” He also knew that most metal singers blew out their voice in a few years.

Tony’s laugh broke into a high pitched giggle. “Like Steve is gonna let you put _ that _ in _ anything_.”

Bucky grinned. “Yeah, but I wanna hear it.”

Tony shrugged. “They’re your ears, man. Fingers in yours, Peter. This is a _ very _small room for this.” 

Peter looked at Tony, puzzed. Tony nodded to him seriously, so he followed directions. Even so, he winced when Tony let out a rising cry and held it.

“Holy fuck!” Bucky said, sticking his finger in his ear and wiggling it around. “Shit, warn a guy.”

“I did.” Tony grinned. “I’ve had sound guys curse my name when the band played. Cut my mic once. No one could tell,” he bragged.

When Bucky left, Tony sat and Peter slid over to sit beside him. “You and Bucky,” he began. “You’re the only two musicians in the group?”

“Nah sweetheart. The others are good with their instruments. Rhodey’s fantastic. We’re holding him back, frankly. Clint’s actually great too, but it’s an oversaturated market for jazz/light rock drummers. Nat’s got a solid voice that’s just made for the breathy old stuff. She melts the socks off anyone even _ slightly _inclined towards women. Scott… you haven’t met him. His daughter’s got one of those kid things, so he’s banned until I’m sure he can’t give me kid-plague. He’ll be back for the show, he says. He’s a bassist who can play lead. Steve…” Tony sighed. “I’ll give him that he knows which part of the guitar is the neck. But reading music? He can barely manage tabs. He does everything by ear. Which is a talent, I guess. A performing monkey talent, but a talent.” Tony grinned when Peter laughed. “His lyrics are good when he puts the work into them. But sitting down and working with a score? That’s a me and Bucky thing. We’re both classically trained.”

  
  


Updates came regularly from Jeri’s office. One thing she was good at was keeping a client informed of the progress on their case. Tony was used to it. For Peter, it was encouraging. Seeing him encouraged made the usually-annoying updates from the ‘associates’ of Hogarth and Associates worth it. Peter was actually beginning to believe that he might finally break free from Beck.

Rehearsals were finally over, Scott was cleared of the ‘kid-plague’, and the Avengers were ready for their New York return. The set was golden. Peter sat near the stage, finally getting to see what Tony performing in his element looked and sounded like. It was hard for Peter not to be impressed. But then Tony wanted to impress. Only this time it was very specifically _ Peter _he wanted to impress. Not just some potential lay in the audience or even one of his insignificant significant others. If there was more sincerity to Tony’s voice than was there when he was going through the motions with a band far beneath his skill, that sincerity was entirely due to the young man in the soft, lacy blouse at table number one.

So of course Beck turned up. The bouncer did his best to keep him outside the door, but it wasn’t good enough. He spotted Peter alone at the table and determinedly headed to him. Tony stepped down from the stage and intercepted him. Quentin was expecting the male equivalent of a bitch-slap fest. Tony hit him with the full force of an experienced fighter, square in the stomach. When the much taller man was bent over gasping, Tony took advantage of the level height and upper-cut him, sending him sprawling into two couples. It left him unconscious on the floor. The bouncer removed the debris.

Tony stepped back on stage and picked up the song from where it had moved on to. Nat, singing backup, took off her scarf and handed it to him to wrap his knuckles, cut on Beck’s jaw. When the song ended, Tony nodded at the two upset couples. “Sorry about the disruption.” He squinted through the lights to the back of the room. “I’ve got the damages,” he said to the man behind the bar. He leaned back and asked Nat, “Early switch?”

She nodded, moved forward, and the band readjusted, irritatedly. 

Tony sat beside his very shaky boyfriend. “You okay, Peter?”

Peter swallowed. “I’ve never seen him so angry. I thought he was going to kill me.”

“Sweetheart, that won’t ever happen. I’ll call Jeri first thing in the morning to get a restraining order. Won’t matter that you’re still married. I’ll have her file a legal separation too, not just wait for the divorce. But first the restraining order. With witnesses, it’ll be easy.”

“The witnesses didn’t see anything but you hitting him,” Peter said, worried.

“The bartender and bouncer will see whatever the hell I pay them to see.”

Peter looked at Tony askance. “Tony, who _ are _you?”

Tony smiled and gave Peter a peck on the cheek. “I’m the lead singer of the Avengers.” 

It didn’t surprise him that Peter, who’d never been educated, didn’t know that the name Howard Stark was right up there with Robert Oppenheimer as the men who saved America’s ass in World War Two. That he hadn’t read enough newspapers or non-fashion magazines to know that Stark Industries was the Department of Defense’s primary contractor. That he’d never seen a financial news show or CNN or anything outside his narrow field. Peter had no idea what the names Tony dropped meant. The photographer did. That’s all that mattered. Peter knew he was rich because he was paying Jeri Hogarth to handle the divorce and entertainment case. Tony liked just being anonymously rich where Peter was concerned. All the wealth and none of the baggage. Sure, Peter might someday use him for his money. But his name, his _ father’s _ name? Not an issue.

Beck was restrained. Separation was granted. And space was made in Tony’s little room for Peter. Boxes of beautiful silk and lace lingerie. Boxes of fashionable androgynous streetwear. Stacks of photographic prints and portfolios. Boxes of little luxuries accumulated from shows and designers and labels who were courting him. Peter sorted through them as quickly as he could because the first night they’d arrived, he and Tony had to sleep almost on top of each other because of the boxes on the bed. Not that that wasn’t fun, but not great for _ actual _sleeping. There were bigger rooms upstairs, but switching meant giving up the shower. Even Peter didn’t want to do that. 

  
  


Their New York gigs had been extended, but near the end, Steve started scrounging for new gigs further afield. Tony put an absolute no on anything that meant spending more than a day away from home. Steve said the van couldn’t take the constant back and forth. Tony spent a weekend repairing it. Everyone swore he’d never get the thing back together from the pieces he had strewn all over behind the loft. Even his staunchest defenders in the band, Bucky and Rhodey, were skeptical. When he was finished, the thing had a purr like it hadn’t when it rolled new off the showroom floor. With a reliable vehicle not providing objections, the rest of the guys still weren’t thrilled about having to traipse back and forth for gigs that would be in the same town for a week or two, even if the town was close.

“Why can’t we just stay at a hotel there?” Clint complained.

“It’d be nice to come home,” Scott said, agreeing with Tony. “It’s a pain, but I’d be able to see Cassie.”

“Settled. You guys can get rooms, Scott and I will come back at the end of each show. Just keep it no more than three hours out, Steve.”

“Three hours? You said a day!”

“Driving time, Rogers. God, can’t you figure out that we’re not gonna time travel to the damn place?”

“You can go a week without fucking your piece, Stark.”

Bucky winced. _ His _‘piece’ was about to get laid out and he knew it. Steve fought fair. Tony fought dirty. Steve would be on the floor. Fortunately Peter rested his hand softly on Tony’s arm. A table lamp was thrown in Steve’s direction. Steve’s reply was stopped by Bucky’s hand over his mouth, and Tony was led by Peter back to their room.

Peter grinned. “Your piece can’t go a week without getting fucked,” he teased. “He can hardly make it for twelve hours.”

  
  


A week before the band was going on their short road trips again, Bucky pulled Steve away from the nightly bull session. Steve grinned as they went up the stairs, looking forward to drowning out the couple below their room who had left not long before them.

“I need you to write me a love song,” Bucky said, stopping their trip to the bed.

“A love song?”

“We need one.”

“We have dozens,” Steve countered.

“I’ve written one that’ll be original. Needs some great lyrics though. I need your best. I’m not saying that just to get you into bed.”

“I’m not getting to bed right now, flattery or no flattery, right?” Steve sighed, realizing Bucky was off on music. “Okay. Play it.” Tony could denigrate Steve’s ear all he wanted, but it rarely took more than twice before he had the tune. “The lows are way too low for Nat.”

“It’s not for Nat,” Bucky said.

“For…”

“Tony.”

Steve snorted. “You’re kidding me, right? He doesn’t have that kind of range and some of the notes are way too long, unless you’re playing through them.”

Bucky sighed. “Listen again.”

“It’s fantastic. It’s…” Steve shrugged his hands. “It’s got an almost Whitney Houston, Mariah Carey ballad feel. But the range isn’t right.”

“It’s not for a woman. It’s tenor.”

“Look, I don’t read music but I know what a tenor sounds like. _ That _ is not a tenor range.”

Bucky sighed again. “It’s Tony’s range.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Write some love song words to it. He’ll sing it or he’ll fall on his ass and I’ll fix it for Nat. Write it same-gender.”

“Bucky are you _ deliberately _ trying to make things harder for us?”

“If it doesn’t work, you can switch it. But a true same-gender love song? That’s of the moment.”

“I’ll give you that. It might actually break.”

Breaking was exactly what Tony wouldn’t want it to do. But Bucky could hear it in his head. And it needed Tony’s voice. He might be okay with it as a group.

“I know you have it in you. Love song, babe. It’ll be ours.” 

“It’s not going to be ‘ours’. It’s for his _ model_. You look nothing like that kid, thank god.” Steve let his hands wander. “I like your hair. I like your arms. I like your back. I like your ass. I like your dick. I like your dick up my ass…” He grabbed Bucky’s hand and pulled them to the bed. 

Three days later, Bucky handed Tony the sheet music with Steve’s words on it. He read it over, made a few changes, nothing significant, just emphasis. “I can hold that longer,” he said, pointing to a note.

“That’s at the top of your range, Tones. I don’t want vibrato while you struggle.”

Tony shrugged. “Didn’t say it wouldn’t take work. I’ll need…” Tony paused. “I’ll need a coach. God I haven’t had to do that in years. Don’t know if I can.”

“If you want that note lengthened, you will.”

“Jesus fucking Christ. You ran this by Steve?”

“I certainly didn’t write the lyrics. I think burn rhymes with orange.”

“If you’re from New Orleans and drunk off your ass, burn-ernj _ maybe_,” Tony pronounced orange the way he’d heard it when they last played a club in the Upper Ninth Ward. He looked at the music again. “As it stands, I’ve got it. I’d love to go for that longer note though. That’s… wow.”

Bucky shrugged. “Let’s hear it as stands, then get yourself a coach.” He went out and sat behind the keyboard.

“Unh unh. You don’t have a voice on there that’s strong enough to back me up on this. If you had an actual electric piano instead of a sampled keyboard piano, yeah. Full band will work, but not that.”

“You’re gonna… what’s that called?” Steve asked.

Tony’s eyes rolled. “A capella.” Tony started off but stumbled. Steve laughed. “I don’t look at you assholes when I sing,” Tony spat. He turned around and saw Peter and Nat sitting near the top of the stairs, talking quietly amongst themselves. That time he didn’t stumble. He was on key, his phrasing was perfect. He needed to look at the music when he usually didn’t, but there was a signature change and Bucky was stretching his range. And then there was the damn note he wanted extended. It was a distraction because could hear it and it frustrated him that he couldn’t make it yet. But god… the lyrics… he hated to give _ anything _to Rogers, but god… He was singing to Peter.

When he finished, he threw the music at Bucky’s keyboard. “I can’t do it.” He stormed off to his bedroom, slamming the door.

“What does he mean he can’t do it?” Rhodey asked. “He nailed it. Bucky, you orchestrate this right and we’ll all make bank.”

“Yeah,” he said quietly and went down the hall to go in Tony’s door.

“Goddammit Bucky. You _ knew_. Why the fuck did you write that when you _ knew_.”

“It’ll be credited as the Avengers. No solo credit.”

Tony snorted. “Like they don’t know who leads the band. And even if they don’t…” He glared at Bucky. “Why the FUCK do you think I stopped singing metal?”

“You told us. The drinking and the drugs and the groupies”

“No! It wasn’t the drinking and the drugs and the groupies. It was my goddamn _ recognizable _ voice! You fucking _ knew_.” Tony was screaming at top volume. Everyone in the living room could hear every word, but Tony was beyond caring. “This all falls apart if someone recognizes me. My LIFE falls apart! I am _ not _ in an acceptable profession. Not with my other skills. I get to have a life if I _ lay fucking LOW_! I solve Obadiah’s problems when he absolutely can’t solve them with his engineering team. I let him run _ everything _ no matter what he does. _ And I _ know _ what he does! _ I stay the fuck out of his way. Out of his way means out of the goddamn spotlight!” Tony swept the dresser with his arm. “You. Fucking. Knew!” He aimed a glass above Bucky’s head.

Bucky retreated.

“What’s the diva’s problem this time,” Steve said mockingly.

“Not in the mood, Steven.” Bucky picked up the sheet music from where Tony had thrown it. It was perfect _ as it was_, not moved around for Nat’s narrower range. It was beautiful and he’d written it.

“What the fuck?” Clint added his voice to the mix. He looked over at Nat and caught the shake of her head.

Peter started to head down the stairs. Nat took his arm and shook her head at him too.

“Well someone in the room obviously knows what the hell is going on,” Scott said.

“I don’t tell tales, boys. You know that.” She brought Peter up to her room. “He’ll come get you when he’s ready,” she reassured him once there.

“Will he…” Peter’s voice was tinged with fear. “Is this when he…”

“No Peter. He’s not going to hurt you.” Nat sighed. “It’ll kill him if he hurts you by accident.”

Peter nodded silently, tears forming. It had been so good between them. He actually thought Tony wouldn’t turn on him.

“He won’t hurt you, but leave it for now, okay?” She could tell that Peter didn’t believe her yet. “How would you feel if you had to sign away your ability to model ever again, had to give up your name, your image, your _ face_, everything that makes you _ you_. Now and in the future and forever, because of someone else.”

Peter tried to comprehend it. His problems with Quentin didn’t run _ that _ deep.

“Peter,” Nat said softly. “You know he’s in love with you, don’t you?”

“Quentin said he loved me,” Peter said with a shrug.

“Has Tony said it?” Nat asked. Peter thought about that. “Do you think Tony _ can _ say it?” 

Peter thought about that longer. About the way they were together. The way Tony was. The way it seemed like sometimes… “No,” he said.

“Does that mean he doesn’t love you? Or is it just the words you need to hear. You’ve already heard those words. You said so. Anyone can say those words.” She paused. “He can’t _ say _ them but…” Nat shook her head sadly. “He _ sang _them. He sang that song to you. And now he can’t.”

“He was singing to me?”

Nat smiled. “You couldn’t tell? Everyone in the room could tell.”

Peter blushed. “I could tell. I was afraid to believe it.” He looked at Nat. “Why can’t he sing the song?”

“Not my story to tell. You can ask, but maybe some things are better left behind. When he’s calmed down, he’ll decide what he’s going to do.”

“What he’s going to do?”

“We’ve probably lost him as our singer.”

“Tony loves singing. He’s _ talented_,” Peter said, admiringly.

“That’s the problem.”

It was late night/early morning before everyone had gone to bed. Peter was sleeping in Nat’s room. She went down the stairs and knocked softly on Tony’s door.

“Go the fuck away.” Tony’s voice was quiet, slurred.

“It’s Nat.”

“Then _ politely _ go the fuck away.”

Nat turned the knob and let herself in. “Peter’s scared.”

Tony scrubbed his hands over his face. “Shit.”

“Don’t worry. He’s sleeping in my room. But you need to get it together. Water and Tylenol,” she said, setting both on the table beside Tony and taking the bottle and glass away. “Scared isn’t half of it. The kid’s terrified.”

“God, all the work I’ve done to let him know that he’s safe with me…”

“Yeah, you fucked that up. Good thing you’re both in love with each other.”

Tony squinted up at Nat, one eyebrow raised.

“Oh please, Tony. You know what I did before I started singing. Before my cover was blown. I read people for a living. You’re in love with each other.”

“I suppose you know then.”

“Yeah, I know. Sucks.”

“What’s new,” Tony said bitterly.

“There _ is _something new. What’s new is that you have Peter.”

“God, did you hear it, Nat? I was going to train for that note after the signature change. It would’ve been amazing. I was gonna…” Tony sighed. “Not my life. Never was.” He stared longingly at the bottle in Nat’s hand. 

“The band in California?” Tony continued. “Got our break. Got a contract. My being in the band fucked it for all of them. SI bought the record company and sat on the contract.” He shook his head. “I need to get away from all of you. Bucky fixes that song for you? You guys can be famous. Just not with me.” Tony covered his eyes. He hadn’t cried since he was a kid. He wasn’t about to start now. “That was Peter’s song,” he said quietly.

“He knows,” Nat said, putting her hand on Tony’s shoulder. “He only fell asleep a couple of hours ago. He’ll sleep in. You have time to get yourself together.”

Tony nodded. Nat left, with the bottle.

“Tony?” Peter cautiously opened the door around noon.

Tony drank practically a sink full of water once Nat had gone. Showered, rinsed the alcohol off his breath, and went to sleep. He was only slightly hung over when Peter came in. Not bad enough that he couldn’t genuinely smile at him, fold down the blanket, and invite him into bed. “Hi sweetheart,” he said tenderly. “I’m sorry I scared you.” He kissed Peter’s forehead. “No excuse, but my life kinda imploded last night. But like I said, no excuse. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, Peter. It’s not okay. You are the one good thing in my life. The one good thing in the world. It is not okay to hurt you.”

It was hesitant, but Peter leaned up and kissed Tony lightly on the lips. “It’s okay _ now_.”

“Sweetheart, you kissed me,” Tony smiled softly at Peter.

“Maybe it’s okay for me to want _ some _ things.”

“I’m gonna have to move.”

“Nat said you might.”

“Don’t worry, I can still take care of you. I’ll always take care of you.”

“Do you have to leave New York? I can work Paris or Milan during the shows. I’ll get jobs there after.”

“And leave Victoria’s Secret? No, baby. I know you only have a year before your agents have to aim you at another market. But you have a year. I can stay in New York. Just not in the Avengers.” He shrugged. “I’ll find another struggling band to front for.”

“It was beautiful.”

“It was…” Tony’s voice broke. He cupped Peter’s face. “It was yours.”

Peter leaned up and kissed Tony again. “I know.” Tony looked like he was about to say something else. Peter put his finger over Tony’s lips. “I _ know _ Tony. I heard.” Peter rested his head on Tony’s chest and listened to his heartbeat. “That’s all I need.”

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing a writer ever does is wasted. No matter how much it looks like it is. :)
> 
> Bits of useless knowledge: Too many years of listening to opera. Following the male runway model scene. Learning about countertenors because of the 'Do It Yourself Messiah'. A couple of years listening to modern jazz. Learning about the seedier side of the groupie lifestyle because I was a photographer for NIN and Marilyn Manson (does not get seedier than MM. I wish brain bleach was a literal thing.) Thank you Elton John, Bernie Taupin, Freddie Mercury, and Rob Halford.
> 
>   
Honorable mention: Tony Stark's giggle. :)
> 
> * * *
> 
> My Starker blog on tumblr is [starker-stories](https://starker-stories.tumblr.com/).  
Come on by and visit.


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